Happily Ever After?
by The Lark
Summary: Christine chooses Erik instead of Raoul, and it doesn't end in marital bliss.
1. Chapter 1

Happily Ever After?

By: The Lark

Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera doesn't belong to me. You can sue me if you want, but all you'll get out of it is fifty-seven cents, a very slow PC, and some cough drops.

"So, what's it gonna be, Christine?" Erik snarled, tugging menacingly on the lasso wrapped around Raoul de Chagny's throat. "Are you going to marry me, or am I gonna have to snap blondie here like a twig?"

"For heaven's sake," rasped Raoul, "whatever happened to getting down on one knee?"

"Shove it!" snapped Erik, reddening. "Christine, have you made your choice?"

Christine slowly waded into the lake and advanced on Erik.

Pitiful creature of darkness

What kind of life have you known?

God give me courage to show you

You are not alone!

And with that, she slipped Erik's ring onto her finger and kissed him. A lot.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, Erik pulled away dizzily. "So…was that a yes?"

"Of course, darling." She smiled apologetically at the vicomte, and tossed him a knife, as he was still trussed to the gate "Sorry, Raoul."

Raoul just cut himself free and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry your pretty little head about me. I know when I'm licked. I wish you two all the happiness in the world." He opened the gate and waded out of the lair. "Don't bother to stop sucking face--I'll show myself out." As his footsteps faded away, they could here him calling out to the approaching mob, "Never mind, everybody. The Phantom got away, but we shouldn't let the evening be a total loss. Let's all go for pizza, my treat!"

The angry mob let out a cheer, dropped their torches and weapons into the lake, and raced for the exits.

The day after this seemingly perfect E/C ending, the happy couple got married, then spent the next two weeks on their honeymoon in Hawaii. Everything went perfectly until they got back. (Well, except for that hula class they took. Don't ask.)

The morning after they came home, Erik awoke to a inharmonious blast that seemed to be coming from his pipe organ. He clamped his hands over his ears and stormed out of the bedroom. "Ow! Damn it! So help me, if those Phans are down here taking souvenir photos of themselves playing my organ again, I'm gonna--gah!" Erik cried as he spotted his organ with several heavy shopping bags sitting on the keys and some sort of red goo dribbling over the edge of the keyboard.

Christine cheerfully skipped back into the room. "Morning honey."

"Christine, what have you done? What is that goo all over my poor pipe organ?"

"Oh, I've just been out shopping, and the bags were really heavy, so I dropped them on the organ because it was close to the door. One of my bottles of perfume must've broken."

Erik pulled the bags off the organ, ending the horrible blare of noise, and rummaged around in them for the cracked bottle. His eyes widened with horror as he read the label. "_Pearberry? PEARBERRY! _Now I won't be able to play my organ againuntil the smell wears off of it. I hope you're happy!"

"What's the big deal?" Christine rolled her eyes.

"I'm a disfigured serial killer who lives in a deadly maze five stories underground. People expect me to smell like death and decay and fresh blood! Not…" He examined the label closely. "…A delightful blend of juicy pears and ripe forest berries!"

Unfazed, she took the bag and handed him a second bottle. "Here, then, put on some of this Moonlight Path scent to cover it up. You like moonlight and nighttime and all that jazz, so it's appropriate for you, right?"

Erik skimmed through the ingredient list. _"It's full of bloody flowers!" _he cried indignantly.

"Settle down, honey."

She's right, he told himself, willing his fists to unclench. He loved her, and he should be able to overlook a silly little thing like this. "I'm sorry I blew up at you dear. Let me help you put those things away." He poked through the bags. "You didn't happen to pick up any cat food while you were out, did you? Ayesha's almost out."

"Erik, I have something to tell you, and I want you to promise you won't blow up and go on one of your violent rampages when you hear it."

He groaned. "What did you do to her? Please tell me you didn't try to dress her in one of those revolting animal sweaters. Because I tried that one time and the results weren't pretty."

"Erik, I gave away your cat."

"WHAT!"He shook her by the shoulders. "How could you do that to me?" He paced back and forth, muttering fretfully. "This can't be happening! My poor little baby! All alone without anyone to tell her a bedtime story and kiss her goodnight and--"

"Relax, Erik, it's not like I just dumped her in the pound. I left her with Nadir. He lives alone and I thought he could use the company."

At this same time, across town, everyone's favorite daroga was barricaded into his basement, crouched on the floor in a corner and praying fervently that the Animal Control people got there in time.

"Besides," Christine continued, "you're entirely too fixated on that silly animal. The way you dote on her, it's disgraceful. You need to break yourself of that. I don't want you spoiling our kids rotten."

He gaped at his wife dumbly. "Uh...our kids? When, exactly, did we decide we were having kids?"

"Don't you argue with me! Ever since I was a little girl, I've had my family all planned out. We're going to have six children all together…"

Erik put his head in his hands. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"…three boys and three girls," she continued as if she hadn't heard. "The girls are all going to be named after flowers, and the boys are all going to born roughly close together so that we can dress them in matching outfits. And their names are going to be--"

He gave up on trying to argue with her and clamped a hand over her mouth. "I want my cat back."

She pulled away from him and opened another of the bags. "Don't worry Erik. I knew you'd be upset, so I took the liberty of buying you a new pet." She pulled a birdcage out of the bag and pulled away the cover, revealing an almost blindingly bright red and green parrot. "Say hello to Pierre!"

Erik's mouth opened and closed silently, as if he were trying to yell but had momentarily forgotten how.

Christine clapped her hands happily. "You're speechless! I knew you'd like him better than that evil cat once you calmed down a bit. This little guy caught my eye right off hand. See, I was asking the man at the pet store what sort of pet he would recommend for an adorable psycho who enjoys music."

"And he recommended _this_ garish creature?"

"No. But the moment the words were out of my mouth, Pierre here started echoing, 'adorable psycho, adorable psycho'. It was so precious!"

Right on cue, Pierre parroted, "Adorable psycho! Adorable psycho!" in a shrill, grating voice.

Erik cringed, not sure whether to be more irritated by the "adorable" part or the "psycho" part.

"Now, why don't you find Pierre's birdseed, and I'll go hang his cage next to your pipe organ so he can keep you company while you compose."

Grinding his teeth and digging his nails into his palms, Erik tried to remind himself that he was deeply in love and should be deliriously happy right now.

A few days later, Erik stepped out of the bathroom in a towel and headed to his closet, only to discover that his clothes were all gone. "Dang it! Christine, did you let more of those souvenir-hunting Phans into the house?"

"No, I gave your clothes away to charity. I'm sure some homeless vampire will be very grateful to get them."

"Christine!"

"Look, honey, I've asked you time and again to buy some new clothes in a color other than black, and you've ignored me. This was the only solution I could think of." She tossed him his last remaining suit and a pair of shoes. "Now get dressed. The mall opens in a half hour."

Thirty minutes later, the Phantom of the Opera was being dragged through a department store, his wife draping various articles of clothing over him along the way. "Oh, look at this yellow one. It brings out your eyes beautifully, don't you think?"

"Absolutely not! Christine, I can put up with a lot, but I draw the line at dressing in pastels."

"Oh, Erik, you're such a drama queen sometimes. I think you've been listening to too much opera."

"I'm the Phantom of the freaking Opera! What else am I supposed to do?" shrieked Erik.

"Don't make a scene, sweetheart." She patted him on the arm and handed him another jacket. "Here, try this white one on. It matches your mask perfectly."

By the time theygot hometo the lair, Erik was decked out in white from head to toe, except for his black cloak, which he had only been allowed to keep because he needed it for stealth purposes. After wearily dropping the shopping bags on the floor, he trudged over to his pipe organ, collapsed onto the bench, and banged his head against the keys.

"Adorable psycho! Adorable psycho!" crowed Pierre in his usual greeting.

Erik pulled off his left shoe and hurled it at the cage. "Christine made me promise not to kill you, Pierre, but someday when her head is turned, I'll be bringing Ayesha back in to do the job for me. Watch your back, bird."

"Erik, come in here!" Christine called from the living room. "We have company."

Popping an antacid tablet into his mouth, Erik reluctantly obeyed.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Erik cursed rather loudly when he discovered who "company" had turned out to be.

Meg Giry and Raoul de Chagny were sitting on his couch, sipping tea. When he appeared in the doorway, Meg screamed at the top of her lungs, "_HE'S HERE, THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"_

Raoul, who had been sitting closest to her, got the brunt of the blast. He winced, rubbing his nearly-ruptured eardrums. "Yes, maybe because it's his house!"

"Sorry. " Meg blushed sheepishly. "Force of habit."

Christine took her husband's arm and ushered him into the room. "Look who stopped by to pay us a visit."

"Christine," Erik ground out through clenched teeth, "would you join me in the other room?" Without waiting for an answer, he threw her over his shoulder and carried her into the next room.

"Erik, honey, I'm not in the mood right now," Christine began to protest.

"No, no, I just wanted to ask you in private how your ex and that shrill best friend of yours got into the lair."

"Oh, I left a key under the doormat for them to use if they ever wanted to stop by."

"Doormat? Since when do I have a doormat?"

"I made us one the other day. You've been tracking that sludge from the lake all over the carpet, and I got sick of cleaning it up."

"Darling, did you ever stop to think that putting a welcome mat and a key to our house out front might undo all the work I've put into trying to keep visitors out? Building a torture chamber under my back door does no good if people can just waltz in the front door!"

But Christine put her foot down. "That's enough, Erik. I don't care how important your little 'evil genius' rep is to you. If you're going to be my husband, you're going to have to learn how to get along with my friends. Or at least to stop terrifying them!"

Cut her some slack, man, Erik told himself. _She's stuck alone here with you in the batcave all day, it's only natural for her to want to see her little friends now and then. _Forcing a smile, he nodded and let her lead him back into the living room.

Erik told himself. Forcing a smile, he nodded and let her lead him back into the living room. 

Raoul put out his hand cheerfully. "Hey, Erik, nice to see you again. No hard feelings, right?" His eyes roamed over the phantom's new white-knight style ensemble. "Hey, look at that, we're twins!"

It was only then that he realized the vicomte was wearing an identical outfit. Horrified, he wrapped his black cape, the last line of defense, around himself tightly. "Grrr…" He instinctively reached for his lasso, but when Christine dug her fingernails into his arm, he grudgingly shook Raoul's hand. "No hard feelings."

He sat down in his favorite chair, and Raoul continued to chat. "Love how you've brightened the place up. It's amazing how a set of lace curtains can brighten up even a moldy underground lair."

"Thanks." She jabbed Erik in the ribs with her elbow. "Told you so."

As the two of them continued to chat, Erik began to grow increasingly uneasy. Not because he was jealous, but because Meg was staring at him like he'd grown a second head that looked even stranger than the first. He did his best to politely ignore her, but when she walked up, unblinking, and poked him in the chest to make sure he was solid, he lost it.

"_That does it!" _he roared, leaping to his feet._ "If you two blond blockheads aren't out of my house in five seconds, so help me God, I'll feed you to the Siren!"_

"Actually, Erik, the Siren is gone. I hired a pool boy to fish her out of the lake day before yesterday," said Christine. "She scratched him up pretty bad and gnawed through all his pool netting, so I had to pay double."

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHH!"

"Oh, I get what this is about!" Raoul said knowingly. "The two newlyweds want some alone time. Say no more." He opened the door for Meg. "Come on, Meg. I'll walk you home."

Meg snapped a quick photo of the Opera Ghost to show to all her friends, and backed through the door with her mouth hanging open. Raoul grinned, gave Erik a friendly swat on the back, and followed her out.

Christine shot her husband a dirty look, but he had been momentarily blinded by the camera's flash and didn't see it. She stormed upstairs and slammed the door, eliciting a startled cry of "Adorable Psycho! Adorable Psycho!" from Pierre, who apparently had a very limited vocabulary.

Erik was about to try calming himself down with some music, when the doorbell rang. Ready to throw courtesy to the wind, he grabbed his lasso and threw the door open.

Much to his surprise, it turned out to be Nadir. The Persian was covered with scratches and bite marks, and his eyes were extremely bloodshot. "Hello, Erik," he said hoarsely.

"Whew, Nadir, thank God." He tossed the lasso aside and let the daroga in. "I've been meaning to come over and see how my little Ayesha's doing, but the wife's had me really busy putting up new wallpaper. So, how are the two of you getting on?"

Nadir sank onto the couch, looking utterly exhausted. "Let me put it this way. I've had twelve stitches, three rabies shots, and two bottles of brandy this morning alone."

"Ah, you tried to feed her cat food, didn't you?"

"What else would I feed a bloody cat?" snapped Nadir.

"She doesn't like eating cat food. She finds it degrading. Just make her whatever you're eating. Unless it's some kind of junk food like pizza or potato chips. She doesn't care for that sort of thing."

Nadir sighed wearily. "Duly noted. I just dropped by to bring you your morphine." He handed Erik a packet of morphine and rose on unsteady legs. "Anyway, I'd better get home before that demon cat from hell chews her way through my front door again."

"Why not just get her a cat flap so she can come and go as she pleases?"

"And unleash that creature on the general populace? I think not. And I was lenient enough to unleash even you on the general populace, so you know how bad she must be."

Erik's eyes lit up hopefully. "Say, Nadir, you wouldn't happen to have room for a cute, well-behaved little parrot at your house too, would you?"

"Nice try, Erik, but Christine already introduced me to Pierre. Getting my eyes clawed out and being too afraid to sleep at night is one thing, but asking me to listen to that thing squawk 'adorable psycho' every two seconds for the rest of my life is going too far." Nadir slammed the door in his friend's face and headed off to the mall to see if there was such a thing as a solid steel cat muzzle.

Erik turned around to see his wife standing in the doorway with a disapproving scowl on her face. "What?" he demanded.

She folded her arms stubbornly. "I don't want you associating with that Nadir anymore."

"What?" Erik quirked his good eyebrow. "That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard. Nadir's been my friend for years. He saved my life. He stuck by me when I was all alone in the world. What could you possibly have against him?"

"Erik," she said condescendingly, as if it should be obvious, "that man's a bad influence on you."

"_Huh_?" Erik blinked stupidly. "That doesn't make good sense. Nadir's the one who's always hounding me not to do evil. He's worse than Jiminy Cricket."

"Yeah," Christine snorted, "and he also sneaks you drugs and helps you run from the law. You don't need friends like that. And while we're on the subject, I want you to get some counseling for that addiction of yours. I don't want the new baby exposed to drug abuse."

"I will do nothing of the--WHAT?" It took a second or two for the whole baby comment to kick in, but when it did, Christine was treated to the rather disturbing sight of the Phantom of the Opera hyperventilating.

"Erik, really, that's not very romantic," she scolded.

Erik passed the next several months studying some books Raoul de Chagny had brought over after hearing the happy news, Child Rearing for the Reclusive Madman and The Fool's Guide to Underground Parenting. He also spent a lot of time working on the new nursery. He had managed to keep Christine from painting the whole thing pink by putting up some wallpaper printed with music notes while she was sleeping. Well, more chloroformed than sleeping, actually, but it did the trick.

There was a lot of music-themed stuff in the baby's room, from the miniature pipe organ to the "Acapella to Zauberflote" See 'n' Say. The place turned out really cute, except for the crib. A few weeks before the baby was due, it was still a pile of bars and screws in the middle of the floor. Erik might have been the greatest genius the world had ever seen, but understanding the instructions for furniture assembly was something not even he could pull off.

He turned the instructions over and over in his hands, rolling them upside down and holding them up to the light, but it was no use. "Damn it all, I speak twenty languages! Why can't I find a single one of them on this stupid piece of paper?"

"Hello?" Raoul poked his head in the door. "Still wrestling with the crib, Erik?" He glanced at his watch. "What is that, seventy-three hours now? You know, I'd be happy to give you a hand with that. My brother and I had to put up one of those for my nephew last year."

"I can do it myself." Erik growled. "The day I need you to teach me anything is the day I eat my cape."

"So stubborn." Raoul shook his head ruefully. "Well, I just stopped by to bring you this." He held out another book. "I saw it in the store the other day and thought you guys might be able to use it. Bye, Erik. And bye, Christine!" he called as he left.

"Bye, Raoul," Christine answered as she walked into the nursery. "What's that he brought us?"

Erik thumbed through the book. "Looks like a book of baby names."

"Oh, well, we won't be needing that. I've already thought of some names."

"Me too."

"Okay, you go first."

He grinned proudly. "Carmen Marguerite for a girl, and if it's a boy, Mephistopheles Mozart."

Christine burst out laughing. "That's a good one, honey! No, seriously."

He just scowled. Even his mask looked angry.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Oh…uh, those are very…unique, I guess."

"Well, then what names do you like?"

"If it's a girl, Angelique, and if it's a boy, Erik Jr."

Erik groaned. "Dear, you've got to get over this angel fixation of yours. It's not healthy. You're going to land the kid in therapy just like your dad did to you if you keep this up. And as for naming the baby Erik, that could get confusing."

"You think? Okay, then, how about Eric instead?"

"That doesn't help!"

"Okay, then, we'll compromise. Eric Mephistopheles for a boy, how's that?"

"Please kill me."

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks later, Erik was still toiling away at the crib, which by this point resembled some sort of weird modern art sculpture. Discouraged, he began to dismantle it so he could start over again. This was getting really old. He'd already had to rebuild it a couple of times. The first time, he had accidentally built the crib pieces into a giant birdcage. The second, it had simply fallen apart because several of the screws were missing. The third, Christine had decided she didn't like the color, dismantled it and packed it into a crate to be returned to the store, and then changed her mind about it ten minutes later.

When he was unable to pry the headboard apart, Erik finally gave up and scooped the pieces into his arms, carrying them downstairs. They were useless as furniture, but at least they'd make good firewood. However, halfway down the stairs, he was interrupted by an ear-shattering scream coming from the bedroom.

Erik sat the pieces down and worriedly ran back upstairs. "What? What is it Christine? Is the baby coming?"

The moment he entered the room, a glass figurine was hurled toward his head, missing him by about a quarter of an inch. "No, honey, I'm just practicing for the big screaming contest tomorrow!" she yelled at him, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Okay, okay, don't worry, I'll go get a doctor! Just try to stay calm." He ran down the stairs, taking a few minutes to chop the remains of the evil crib into kindling before he went for the doctor.

About a quarter of an hour later, he returned with a handcuffed, blindfolded old gentleman in tow. "Here we are." He ripped off the blindfold and wrapped a hand menacingly around the doctor's throat. "Doctor, this is my wife. She's having a baby, and you're gonna deliver it, and you're gonna keep your big yap shut about it, and you're gonna let me try on that nifty stethoscope you've got in your bag, or I'm gonna have to get nasty, you get it?"

Christine, by now in a lot of pain and feeling beyond cranky, reached up and smacked her husband in the back of the head. "Erik, did you kidnap this poor man? You idiot!"

"Hey, now," Erik defended, "as far as I'm concerned, if a disembodied voice suddenly appears in a theater known to be haunted and asks if there's a doctor in the house, anybody stupid enough to answer deserves what he gets."

"He's got a point, ya know," the doctor acknowledged. "Now, Monsieur, how about unlocking these cuffs so I can get to work?"

"Unlock the cuffs? How stupid do you think I am?"

Christine grabbed her husband by the collar, pulling his head down and hissing in his ear, _"Do what the man says and get out of here before I strangle you with your own freaking lasso! And by the way, that whole plan I had about the six kids is OFF!"_

Erik obediently unlocked the cuffs and stumbled out of the room, clutching his bruised throat and gasping for air. "I think I'm starting to rub off on that girl," he thought aloud.

He reluctantly sent word to Meg and Raoul about the baby, and they rushed right over. Meg had brought along her trusty new camera and three extra rolls of film. "I can't wait to get myself a picture of the ghost-baby to show the rest of the ballet rats. They're going to be totally floored!"

Raoul had brought two boxes for Erik that turned out to be full of bubble gum shaped like cigars. One box was strawberry flavored and the pieces had "It's a Girl!" printed down one side. The other boxful were blue-raspberry and said "It's a Boy!"

"What are you looking at me like that for? It makes perfect sense," the vicomte insisted. "The secondhand smoke wouldn't be healthy with an infant in the house."

They waited out in the hall for what seemed like forever, with Christine screaming some rather impolite words through the walls at Erik every few minutes. After nine hours of nervous pacing, six rounds of Go Fish with Raoul, and a couple of habitual shrieks from Meg, the doctor opened the door and waved the Phantom inside. "You can go in now, Monsieur."

"Finally!" Erik sighed with relief. "Here, Chagny, put these back on him for me and dump him in an alley somewhere, will you?" He shoved the cuffs and blindfold into Raoul's hands and bolted into the bedroom.

Christine, reclining on the bed with the baby in her arms, looked like she'd been drugged, beaten, thrown off a cliff, run over by a bus, keel-hauled, and then drugged again. He took a tentative step forward. "H-how are you feeling, honey?"

She didn't answer, just shot him a look that assured him she would be beating him senseless right now if she had the strength to lift her arms.

Erik coughed nervously. "I see." Then, eager for a change of subject, "So, can I see the baby? What was it, a boy or a girl?"

"Both! Erik, meet the twins!" She pulled the extra baby out from under the bed where she had been hiding him, and Erik began to hyperventilate again, choking on the piece of strawberry cigar gum he had been chewing. Christine snickered. "Hehehe, now we're even, buster."

After a few seconds of breathing into a paper sack, Erik got himself under control enough to go and have a look at his new kids. Christine smiled proudly, placing the boy in his arms and holding the girl out for him to see. "Aren't they precious, Erik? Look, they both look just like you. Well, aside from the whole hideous craniofacial deformity, but you know what I mean."

"What are you talking about? They don't look anything like each other." The boy was big and strong, with green eyes and chestnut brown hair, while the girl was rather pale and thin, with black hair and glow-in-the-dark yellow eyes.

"Oh, that. That's just because our girl here looks like Gaston-Leroux-you, and our boy looks like Gerard-Butler-you."

Erik was too worn out to question it. "I guess so. So what are we going to call them? We never did agree on a name."

"Angelique Seraphine and Eric Mephistopheles."

"I refuse to do that to my own flesh and blood."

"They're perfectly lovely names!" defended Christine.

"Absolutely not."

"I don't see what the problem--"

Erik held up his hands to silence her. "Christine, I'm putting my foot down. We are _not _giving them those awful names, and that's the end of it! I'm the man of the house and I have spoken!"

The following Sunday, Erik, Christine, and a few close friends were standing in a chapel to witness the baptism of Angelique Seraphine and Eric Mephistopheles Destler.

Erik had a gloomy scowl plastered to his face the entire time. He wasn't fond of churches, Christine's little friends from the ballet were staring at him like a caged freak, and the priest, who was very old and had shaky hands, kept slipping and pouring the ice-cold holy water on the Phantom instead of the children.

When it was finally over, Erik snatched Eric and Angelique from the arms of the Vicomte de Chagny, who had been named as godfather. That had been Christine's idea, too. Erik had tried to convince her that Nadir would be a better choice, but then he remembered that the daroga still had Ayesha at his house. He hated to think what would happen if he left his helpless babies in that house and they made the mistake of trying to borrow one of her chew toys. That had left Meg, who would probably sell the twins to the National Enquirer, Mme. Giry, who would cane them into an early grave, or Raoul.

"Come on, Christine," he called over his shoulder as he hurried toward the exit. "We've got to get the kids home and changed quick, before the memory of being forced to wear these little white lace dresses burns itself permanently into their minds."

Christine leaned over to whisper in the vicomte's ear, "I swear, if it were up to him, they'd both be crawling around in little black masks and capes, dressed like a couple of Goths just the way he used to be."

The next month or two was a blur. Erik (note the 'k') had always had irregular sleep patterns, but even he needed more than fifteen minutes a week. Eric (note the 'c') and Angelique seemed to be conspiring against their mother and father, because every time one would fall asleep, the other would start screaming. And on the few occasions they did manage to get both to quiet down at once, Pierre would screech out one of his random cries of "Adorable Psycho! Adorable Psycho!" and they would wake up screaming again.

One day (he was pretty sure it was sometime in April) he found the answer to their problems; sound-proof insulation for the nursery. He had been working on it every spare moment he had since the twins had been born, but it had been difficult to perfect the formula while working on fifteen minutes of sleep a week. Once it was finally done, he installed it in the twins' room, placed the babies in the bureau drawers they had been sleeping in, what with the crib in splinters and all, then locked the door and promptly passed out on the floor.

He hadn't been asleep more than five minutes, however, before he was awakened by more angry sobbing. "No!" he moaned miserably. "This can't be happening! That insulation was perfect! What the…?" He suddenly realized the crying wasn't coming from Eric and Angelique's room, but from his and Christine's. Frowning in confusion, he dragged himself down the hall and opened the door. Christine was weeping into a pillow.

He patted her shoulder gently. "What's wrong, dear?"

At this question, she only bawled harder.

"What? What is it?" He was starting to get really concerned now.

"You forgot our anniversary!"

"Huh?" That had been the last thing he was expecting. "How do you even know it's our anniversary? We live in a place where you can't tell night from day, and you used my only calendar to line that stupid bird's cage. Plus we've been delirious with exhaustion for the past month…or two months…or however long it's been."

"I still know today's our anniversary, and if you loved me as much as I love you, you would have too!" Christine burst into a fresh bout of tears.

Uh-oh. This wasn't going to be easy to worm his way out of. "I'm so sorry, my precious angel. I'm scum. I'm lower than scum. I'm the scum that grows on scum. If you could find it in your infinite wisdom and mercy to forgive me, I'll give you whatever you want."

"You're not worming your way out of this that easy!"

__

I might have known, thought Erik.

"I shouldn't have to tell you what I want," she continued. "You should know me well enough to figure it out on your own!"

"But I'm not a mind reader!" He began to regret the decision he had made in college, where he had only had time to earn twenty-six diplomas, and had had to stop pursuing his Master's degrees in both Mind Reading and Modern Dance.

Then, Erik remembered one of the degrees he _had_ earned; Applied Hypnotism. Grinning wickedly, he fished his watch out of his pocket and dangled it in front of his wife's eyes. "You are getting sleepy."

She yawned. "I am getting sleepy."

"You are in my power."

"I am in your power," droned Christine.

"You are at my command."

"I am at your command."

"Now, what is it that you want for our anniversary?"

"A Tickle-Me-Elmo, a pair of tap dancing shoes, and a big chocolate cake all to myself. No, wait, make that a chocolate pie."

Erik raised his good eyebrow. Some of the things he heard when he hypnotized people could get very confusing. It often made him glad he hadn't finished learning to read minds. "Okay, now listen to me closely. When you woke up this morning, your darling husband Erik was waiting for you, shouting 'Happy Anniversary' and holding out a Tickle-Me-Elmo with a bright red bow around it's neck. You were thrilled. Then, after breakfast, he dropped the kids off at the vicomte's place and took you out tap dancing. He even bought you a shiny new pair of dancing shoes while he was at it. Then, on the way back to the vicomte's to pick up the twins, muggers stole your Tickle-Me-Elmo and new shoes. Your sweet, protective Erik tracked them down and killed them, but couldn't find the doll or the shoes anywhere. So, to cheer you up, he took you home and made you a big chocolate pie all for yourself. It was a perfect day, and you've never been happier. Okay?"

"M'kay," mumbled Christine sleepily.

"When I snap my fingers, you will awaken."

He snapped his fingers, and Christine immediately came to. She smiled adoringly when she saw him kneeling in front of her. "My darling husband Erik, I love you so much. This was the perfect day. I don't think I've ever been happier." She leaned in to kiss him, and Erik tried very hard not to smirk.

__

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

Erik grinned smugly as he approached the cage dangling over his pearberry-scented pipe organ. (He had actually started to kind of like of the smell, though he'd never admit it) "Well, Pierre, you've managed to sidestep me for nearly a year and a half now, but soon it will all be over."

For the past month, he had put up a great show of adoring Pierre, petting him, cooing at him, and feeding him treats whenever Christine was in the room to see. It had done the trick. His wife had finally trusted him enough to leave the two of them alone unsupervised today. With a maniacal laugh that took him right back to the good old days, he pulled a miniature catgut lasso no bigger around than a golf ball out of his pocket and pushed open the tiny door to the parrot's cage. "Bye bye, birdie!"

Pierre was confused. "Adorable psycho? Adorable psycho?"

"Erik! What do you think you're doing?" The door swung open and Christine stormed in, pushing the twins in a double stroller. Little Eric and Angelique were locked in a rather violent battle over the armrest, shoving and scratching at each other. Luckily, their mother was used to that sort of thing by now, and had had the foresight to tape oven mitts over their hands before taking them to the playground that morning.

"I…uh…I…" Erik stuttered lamely. "Is it morning already? Whew, will you look at that? I was sleepwalking again." He stuffed the tiny noose in his coat pocket and affectionately stroked Pierre's wing. "Good thing you came in when you did, or I might have accidentally harmed my feathered friend here."

She rolled her eyes. "How stupid do you think I am, Erik?" She locked Pierre's cage and placed the key in her pocket. "I'll need to watch him like a hawk from now on, won't I, Pierre?" She smiled and patted the parrot on the head.

"Adorable psycho! Adorable psycho!" Pierre concurred.

"'Dorable psycho! 'Dorable psycho!" echoed little Eric.

Christine scooped her son into her arms. "Erik, did you hear that? Eric said his first words!"

"Why did she make me throw away all my morphine? God knows I need it now more than everthought Erik.

Not to be outdone, Angelique joined in. "'Dorable psycho!"

"'Dorable psycho!" chirped Eric, more loudly this time.

Erik sighed. "God, I miss my days of torturous isolation from the rest of humanity."

"Angie, you talked!" Christine smothered her daughter's face with kisses. "Quick, Erik, get their baby books and write this down! Erik? Erik!"

"Oh, sorry, were you talking to me? I thought you were saying something to Eric."

"Erik, I didn't say Eric, I said Erik."

"Huh? Look, just tell me straight out, were you saying Erik or Eric?"

"Erik!"

"Now, are you shouting Erik because you were trying to say Erik before, or are you shouting Erik because you're annoyed with me? Or are you actually shouting Eric because you're annoyed with Eric?"

"You're driving me up the wall today, Erik!"

Erik and Eric both looked hurt.

Eventually, Eric learned how to spell, and it got at least a tiny bit easier to clear up these misunderstandings. They were lucky. He picked it up pretty early. Both of the kids were geniuses just like their old man. Then again, the twins had also inherited some of his other traits, too, most of which were far less beneficial.

"All right, Angelique, can you tell me what's wrong with this scale?" Erik pointed to the musical notes on the blackboard he had set up in the music room. He had started passing his musical knowledge down to the kids shortly after their fifth birthday party.

Ugh, what a horrible affair that had been. A lair full of screaming five-year-olds and balloon artists, with streamers and silly-string all over everything he owned. Not to mention all the confetti that had gotten into his organ pipes.

And actually, more accurately, he had been _trying_ to pass his knowledge down. The children didn't seem very interested in learning. Angelique was drawing little stick-figure angels all over her desk, not seeming to have noticed her father's question.

Erik turned to his son. "Eric, do you know the answer?" But little Eric had fallen asleep at his desk, face down, drooling all over the ridiculously expensive antique violin his father had bought him for Christmas.

Erik sighed. "Take five, kids."

The twins eagerly jumped out of their desks and pulled on their coats to go out and play. Erik winced at the sight of those coats. Like every other article of clothing the twins owned, Eric's was sky blue, Angelique's was pale pink, and both were covered with angels. Christine had picked them out, even though the twins had tried to protest that their favorite color was black and they'd never really been interested in angels. In an act of mercy, Erik had bought them a pair of black capes to wear over their clothes whenever their mother wasn't looking.

The Phantom marched into the living room and collapsed onto the couch beside his wife, who was contentedly embroidering a likeness of the house on the lake, with the words "Lair, Sweet Lair," along the top edge.

She put her arm around him. "Having trouble with the twins again?"

"I just don't understand! They were walking at six months, making prank phone calls at eleven months, and writing for the New York Times at two years! Yet they have the attention spans of brain-damaged rodents!"

"Gee," said Christine sarcastically, "I don't know where they could have gotten that from."

"What are you insinuating, Christine?"

"Erik, I thought you had already noticed. You have Attention Deficit Disorder."

"I most certainly do not have ADD! Where did you get a crazy idea like that?"

"Honey, come on, you're a textbook case. I mean, you're still working on the same opera you started over two decades ago. And why? Because you only work on it for a week or two at a time before you lose interest and go off to pull practical jokes or play with your cat."

The door swung open, mercifully ending that conversation. "Hi guys," greeted Raoul.

"Uncle Raoul!" Angelique ran into the room, hugging her godfather's leg. "What'dja bring me? What'dja bring me?"

"Aw, aren't you just precious?" Raoul handed her a red plastic pail full of gummy bears with a bright yellow shovel stuck in the top.

"Raoul, no!" Christine cried in open-mouthed horror.

But it was too late. The little girl had already devoured a handful of the gummy bears, and ran out of the room in a blur.

Raoul laughed. "Aw, look how happy she is. So, where's Eric?"

"Eric?" Christine asked. "Or Erik?"

"Eric."

"Now, are you talking about Erik or Eric?"

Raoul wasn't about to get caught up in another round of this. Sometimes it could last for days. "I was talking about the Eric who's five years old and looks like Gerik."

"Hi, Uncle Raoul!" Eric looked at his sugar-charged sister, his eyes lighting up. "You brought us candy again, didn't you?"

"You betcha." He handed his godson a blue pail full of gummy worms, and soon, there were two blurs zooming through the lair.

Raoul chuckled at the children's antics, but stopped when he saw the death glares Erik and Christine were giving him.

"Erik?" growled Christine, not taking her eyes off Raoul.

"Yes, dear?"

"Get your lasso!"

Raoul was gone before Erik could even get off the couch.

Erik and Christine had long since given up trying to chase after the children while they were on a sugar high. They just let them work off the excess energy, knowing they'd come home when they got hungry. But this time was different. Eric and Angelique still hadn't returned by dinnertime. And when they missed dessert, Christine clutched at her heart in horror. "Dear God, they're dead!"

"Don't be hysterical, dear. They're probably just lost. Last time they had that much sugar they wound up in Belgium." Erik wrapped himself in his cloak and left. The moment he stepped out the back door, he was surprised to hear his children's uncharacteristically off-key voices singing the theme song to _Cats._

Erik frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Now, where could those voices be coming from? And what the hell is a Jellicle?" He skulked around, slowly realizing that the song was coming from his torture chamber. "Uh-oh…"

He jumped into the unbearably hot giant oven, where Angelique was sitting in the middle of the floor, giggling as she rocked back and forth on her heels and mumbling something about "giant bunnies" in a slurred voice. Eric was staring intently at an iron tree. "I said, get out of my way! Don't you talk to me like that! Are you looking for a fight? Oh, that's it!" Eric slammed his fist into the metal tree trunk, then shrieked in pain.

"Kids?"

Angelique looked up at him and giggled. "Daddy, look at all the giant bunnies!"

"This tree's not being nice to me!" Eric whined. "Kill it, Daddy!"

Erik picked up his children and carried them out of the chamber. Once outside, he sat them down, fanned their faces, smoothed their hair down, and tried to get them halfway presentable. "Now, kids, there's no need to tell Mommy about this, is there? What do you say we keep it our little secret? Okay? Say yes and I can get you caffeine."

Angelique stared right through him. "Hehehehe! Bunnies…"

Eric just threw up on his father's shoes.

Erik swore lavishly.

"Erik, what on earth is going on out here?" Christine embraced the twins protectively. "Thank God you found them. Eric, Angie, where were you?"

"Bunnies!" Angelique muttered incoherently.

"Daddy, can I help you kill that mean metal tree?" Eric asked hopefully.

"Metal tree?" Christine gaped at her husband. "Don't tell me you had them down in the torture chamber! I mean, I know you were upset when they made your Don Juan Triumphant manuscript into origami this morning, but this is going too far!"

"I didn't lock my own children into my torture chamber, they just fell in!" He got a faraway look in his eyes. "Although now that you mention it, that might be just the kind of discipline they need."

"Erik!"

Once the children had stopped hallucinating and been put to bed, Christine confronted her husband with a humorless expression on her face. He soothingly placed his hands on her shoulders. "Darling, I know what you're thinking, but one day we're all going to look back on this and laugh." He began to chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but when he saw the look she was giving him, he tried to turn it into a cough.

"Erik, I hate to say this, but we're going to have to move. This booby-trapped lakeside batcave is fine for hiding from the cops and terrorizing innocent ballerinas, but for raising a family, it's entirely unsuitable. Plus, we'll need more room if we ever have any more kids."

Erik cringed. "Please, Christine, don't even joke about something like that."

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

"…And this is the living room, and this is the dining room, and upstairs there are four bedrooms," the old woman explained, showing Erik and Christine through her newly vacated house. "It's a great little house. The only reason my husband and I would even dream of selling it is that we've always dreamed of retiring in Miami." She pointed out the back window. "And out back, there's a swingset and a sandbox for these sweet little children." She made the mistake of trying to muss the twins' hair, and nearly lost a finger.

"Why did you let them wear those capes?" hissed Christine. "You know what a rambunctious mood it always puts them in."

"Meh. Let them be rude as they want. We're not buying this place, so there's hardly any need to make a good impression."

"What do you mean? This place is perfect."

"It's _pink._" Erik spat the word as if it were the most horrible obscenity in the French language.

"But it's so quaint and cozy, and there's plenty of room for the children to play. And look! The drapes are printed with angels!" She tugged his arm insistently. "Erik, this has got to be a sign!"

"Ugh…angels…always angels…" Erik shuddered. Had he known six years ago what he knew now, he would have introduced himself with some kind of cheesy pick-up line like a normal guy instead of trying to make things easy with the angel hoax. "Christine, no. I've put up with a lot of stuff over the years. I let you put lace curtains and a welcome mat in my lair. I replaced my coffin with that frilly little canopy bed you wanted. I even kept quiet while you've dressed my children in pink angel prints for the past five years! But when you ask me to leave my quiet, comfy lair and move into the suburban pastel palace from Hell, I've got to draw the line! We're not moving into this hideous house, and that's final!"

Two days later, the last of their belongings had been moved to the suburban pastel palace from Hell, and the lair was being leased to a couple of ecstatic phans who paid the rent by conducting guided tours twice a day.

Erik had been too busy sulking to help unpack, so he didn't have a clue where anything was. "Christine, where did you put my pipe organ?"

"Sorry, Erik, but I had to leave it back at the lair."

Meanwhile, back down in the Phantom's lair, two teenaged girls in Phantom T-shirts and plastic half-masks were having the time of their lives.

"Look at me, Tiffany!" said one to the other as she banged on the organ keys. "I'm the Phantomette of the Opera!"

Tiffany sniffed the air, perplexed. "Is it just me, or do you smell a delightful blend of juicy pears and ripe forest berries?"

"You what!" Erik cried in disbelief.

"Look, there was nothing I could do," said Christine as she unwrapped the newspaper from her collection of angel figurines and placed them on a shelf. "It was too big to fit through the door, and besides, the noise would have really bothered the new neighbors. We don't want to get off on the wrong foot, now, do we?"

"Christine! I'm a composer! I needed that!"

"Don't worry, Erik. I took the money those charming Phans gave me for it and bought you a better instrument." She led him into a small room at the back of the first floor, and pulled a sheet off a concealed piece of furniture in the corner. "Look, it's a piano!"

"No, dear. It's a harpsichord," corrected Erik grimly.

"Oh. Well, it looks just like a small piano to me. They can't be all that different."

Erik didn't answer. He just walked over to the "piano" and played a quick scale. The sound that came out sounded more like it had come from Tinkerbell than the Phantom of the Opera.

"Oh. Um…bye!" Christine bolted from the room quicker than her kids on a sugar high.

"Adorable psycho! Adorable psycho!" squawked Pierre, whose cage had been hung just above the harpsichord.

Erik's eyelid began to twitch uncontrollably.

Thirteen years went by, with Christine collecting angel merchandise, the twins devising new ways to get the sugar canister out of the safe, and Erik trying to pound out his frustrations on his harpsichord.

The good news is that when the children hit their teen years, they got over the sugar-craze phase. The bad news is that they developed several much more troublesome phases.

Erik had taught the children everything he knew about music, and while they had plenty of talent for it, they didn't really seem interested. At least not in the way he would have liked. Angelique, who had inherited her old man's "baddie" persona, had started up a band. It had been rather sudden. The day she turned eighteen, she had suddenly thrown all of her pink angel-print ensembles into the fireplace, extorted some money, bought herself some black Goth-style outfits and makeup, and gotten several piercings on her face. Then she piled three of her friends into a van and took off on the road with nothing but her tambourine and a dream.

Erik still had high hopes for Eric, though. He had remained at home, still dressed in his sky-blue angel suits. Like Erik with his white knight get-up, Eric's spirit had been broken, and he no longer even tried to protest. But he hadn't decided what line of work he wanted to pursue yet, and Erik had been trying to convince the boy to get involved in opera.

Then one day, as Erik sat tinkering with his harpsichord, desperately trying to lower the pitch somehow, Eric approached him nervously, with Christine smiling encouragingly at her son from the doorway. "Dad, can I talk to you for a minute? It's kind of important."

Erik sighed and slammed the harpsichord shut. He was fighting a losing battle. "Sure, son. What's on your mind?"

"Well," said Eric, taking a deep breath. "I've been trying to decide what I want to do with my life for a while now, and I've finally made a choice. I want to follow in your footsteps."

Erik's eyes lit up. "Really?" He put an arm around his son's shoulders. "That's great!"

Eric beamed, gaining confidence. "Dad, I'm becoming a ventriloquist!"

"Huh?" Erik blinked in confusion.

"A ventriloquist, just like you!"

Christine threw her arms around Eric. "Isn't this wonderful? I'm so proud!"

Erik groaned. "A ventriloquist? Eric, you're killing me!"

Christine frowned. "Erik!"

"Yes?" replied Eric and Erik in unison.

"I was talking to the Erik who's nocturnal and wears a mask," Christine clarified. "Erik, apologize to Eric!"

Erik wearily patted his son on the back. "Er…I didn't mean it son. I suppose…if you really want to be…oh, God…a _ventriloquist_…it's fine by me."

So Eric went on tour as the opening act for his sister's band, and Christine and Erik were left alone again. Erik had always imagined the day the kids left home would be the happiest of his life. But without the little monsters around to keep her busy, his wife had started devoting all her attention to him again. She cut his hair, put him on a low-carb diet, and forced him to start going to the gym with her twice a week. One day, he collapsed from a heart attack during a high-intensity aerobics class and was rushed to the hospital. But it was too late. The doctor only gave him a day or two to live.

The children rushed home to be at their father's bedside during his final hours, but Erik couldn't even look them in the eyes. Oh, not because he was ashamed of them. It was just that Angelique's eyebrows had so many piercings that it hurt to even look at them. And Eric had brought along a ventriloquist's dummy identical to himself, and it was so creepily lifelike that Erik could never tell if he was looking at the boy or the doll. The fact that Eric had named his dummy Erik in honor of his father didn't help lessen the confusion any.

Christine came to the hospital to be with him, too, and she brought Pierre along with her. "He's part of our family," she insisted.

"Adorable psycho! Adorable psycho!" Pierre agreed.

"It's okay, I'm glad he's here," rasped Erik. "I want to thank him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. After twenty years with Pierre, Hell is going to seem like Disneyland." And with those words, the Phantom of the Opera…or rather, the Phantom of the Suburban Pastel Palace From Hell departed from this life.

****

The Lair Beneath the Opera House, 1881:

__

Erik suddenly snapped out of the vivid daydream he had been caught up in as his beloved Christine was giving him his first kiss. Dear Lord, was that what was going to become of him if this progressed any further? Oh, thank heavens it had only been his imagination! He burst into tears of relief as Christine pulled away. He still had a chance to stop this.

He backed away from Christine as though she carried some infectious disease. "Take her, forget me, forget all of this!"

Christine and Raoul stared at him in disbelief. Ugh, what were they waiting for, a written invitation? He waded out of the lake, waving them away. "Leave me alone, forget all you've seen. Go now, don't let them find you!"

Christine ran to Raoul and hugged him, looking over her shoulder at Erik hesitantly. He began to tremble as a ghostly squawk of "Adorable Psycho!" echoed through his memory. Why wouldn't they just get away from him? And quick! He opened the gate for them, hoping to hurry them on their way. "Take the boat, swear to me never to tell the secret you know of the Angel in Hell."

Christine untied Raoul and they hung back as though they expected some kind of trap. Erik was getting frantic by now. "GO NOW! GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!"

They obediently fled, and Erik sank onto his organ bench, resting his head against the keyboard. He smiled. No pearberry scent. Ayesha jumped into his lap, and he breathed a sigh of relief. And when he looked down at his familiar black Goth ensemble, he laughed ecstatically. "Whew, that was close!"

THE END


End file.
